The Arrival Gate
by ArtemisiaLufkin
Summary: He'd thought she'd wait for him at the arrival gate. He'd thought he'd won her love, despite everything. But she's not there...or is she?


His shoulders sagged a bit as he leant back against the backseat of the car. His blonde hair was flicked back to the side irritatedly, as he closed his eyes in frustration. And if he was to be honest with himself, with more than a hint of dejection. He had really thought that his return to London would be different.

If he shut his eyes tightly enough, he could imagine her face in front of him. The bushy hair - it never would be sleek, he suspected; the way her cheeks burned red when she was angry - and that was a lot; the freckles on the side of her cheeks that he thought only he noticed - and he was correct in that supposition. He remembered the last time he had been face to face with her - her lips had been so tantalisingly close, and yet the distance between them was more than he thought he could cover in that one step. He had leant forward anyway, casting the die that was loaded from the start. He suspected that she was more surprised than he when she leant in to complete that kiss. The kiss which started as soft, with his fingers caressing her face, but which drew him in - both physically and emotionally. He had moved his arms to her waist, holding her tight as he deepened the kiss, not wanting her to leave, wanting her to understand his need, his frustration, his desire for atonement with every flick of his tongue. She had felt so supple in his arms, but what turned him on was how strong she felt, too. She was in control, she wanted this as much as he did. Or that's what he had thought. When she pulled away, there was doubt in her eyes.

"Draco, I…"

"What's the matter, babe? I thought you had a good time in Paris? I thought you wanted this."

"Don't call me babe"

"Don't change the topic"

"I don't know what I want. There is too much history, this is too complicated. And I'm leaving today."

"So don't leave. Stay with me."

"And my job?"

"I own Malfoy Industries. I'm pretty sure we will manage"

"Are you insane? We've gone on _one _date."

"That date lasted seven hours."

"You've hated me for seven years."

"Pshaw."

"What kind of retarded response is that, Draco?"

"Look, there is no response I can give you that will be enough. I'm not defending the seven years of Hogwarts. I was a twat, and I'm not denying that. But there was the slightly pertinent detail of you having saved my life, multiple times. Of me realising my mistakes, of apologising to every fucking one I was a git too. I even apologised to your precious fucking Weasel. I left to study so I can _do _something with my life, so I can make amends, so I don't have to feel guilty about everything I ever did. But if none of that can make a difference, then how will anything I say?"

There was the heartbeat of a pause. Then she replied, in a small voice, not looking up at him, not even realising that his arms were snaked around her, still. "He's not my precious Weasel anymore".

God. She'd kill him, she really would. It was almost a physical torture, not lifting her into his arms and swinging her about and kissing her all over. This was the only response she had to his impassioned, heartfelt speech? Fuck, who was he kidding, it was the only part of his speech that he was desperate to hear an answer to. He leaned in again, but didn't kiss her again. This was much too important.

"Then why won't you give me a chance, Mia? Why do you tease me so? You came all the way to Paris just because I bugged you saying that I missed you, you spent the whole day with me seeing the city, you even held my hand…Don't even try and deny it, you know you did, when we were crossing that bridge. And when I kiss you, and tell you I love you, you pull away. If even Saint Scarhead can give me a second chance, why can't you? I've waited for more than a year for you - give me _something _to live on!" Fuck, if his father heard him, he'd be disowned. Then and there. No Malfoy was ever supposed to sound so vulnerable.

"Did you just say you _love_ me?"

"Can you not change the topic?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy"

"Do I take that as a yes, then?"

She swatted his arm, smiling. He had thought he had spotted a tear in her eyes, but that could not be, because Granger was too stoic to cry. But though his heart was melting, he knew that he had to be strong. He couldn't live in this suspense. So he pulled away, and this was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Facing ol' Voldemort had been _nothing_ compared to this.

"Look, Mia, I can't…I can't live in this limbo. I can't look at you and not want to make you mine. Take some time. Think it over. I finish University in three more months, and then I'm back in London. I'll respect your wishes, but I can't keep waiting for you to realise that I have changed. I'm Draco fucking Malfoy, I can get any girl I want - but the one I want is you. And I can't snatch you away like I would anything else. If you're there, waiting for me, when I return, then… then we'll take it from there. If not, I won't contact you again." And he had turned away, resisting the urge to sneak in one more, errant but satisfying kiss. He would replay this moment in his head multiple times over the next three months. Of course, he mentally dressed her in a bikini sometimes, something sexier sometimes. The lack of contact from her was disconcerting; no emails, no texts - he was forced to admit that hope seemed diminished. Maybe his past would not let him go, after all. It was a pretty depressing thought.

He had texted her the time of his flight, five days before leaving. He omitted to mention how well he'd done, the awards he'd won. If she cared, she would ask. He'd texted her the next day, just to be sure. The day after that, he had hinted at his result, making sure he spelt out the time of his flight. The next day, while packing, inspiration struck, and he even emailed her. Just covering his bases. Not being desperate at all.

And though she had given no indication otherwise, though logic and good sense urged him to understand that she would never love him, that she would not be waiting for him when he landed, his eyes still searched desperately as soon as he stepped out of the arrival terminal. He had been so caught up with looking around for her - maybe she got a visitor's pass and came inside! She was a witch, maybe she confunded airport security! - that he almost forgot his bags. He lingered at the gates, stopping to tie his shoe laces, waving to the Malfoy Industries driver, trying to buy time. But after forty five minutes, even he couldn't delude himself anymore.

The ride back was miserable. The sticky, persistent rain made him want to throw something at someone. Preferably something sharp. Preferably, inexplicably, at the Weasel. Having to tell Saint Scarhead that he couldn't in fact win Hermione over would be more torturous than this disappointing car ride. No wait, scratch that. That would be impossible. Fucking fuck fuck. Well, there was always Pansy. But even the mental snort he gave was derisive. He knew that if it wasn't his Mia, then it would be noone.

The car pulled up, and he struggled with his many bags - why had he insisted on carrying so many damned clothes? He struggled with his tote, heavy with his books, while jangling his keys with one hand and shielding his face from the rain with the other. That was when he saw her, sitting on the top step outside his apartment, trying - and failing - to keep the rain away from her. The rain had managed to make her hair even more frizzy - christ, how was that even possible? But the sight of her standing, half soaked, drove out all other thought from his head. He dropped his tote next to her, and seemed to debate about what to say to her, but clearly drawing a blank, hurriedly opened the door instead, pulling her into the relative warmth and dryness of the landing.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Her voice was confused. "I thought you asked me to wait for you…Have you changed your mind?" Then, a little lower. "You're late. I thought you weren't coming."

"I was waiting for you at the airport."

"Hunh? But why would I be at the airport?"

"Because I messaged you about a billion times, telling you what flight I was on?"

"You didn't tell me which flight. You just told me what time. Do you have any idea how many flights leave from Paris to London every half hour? Without the gate number, how could I possibly catch you?"

Oh. Well. When she put it like that. Stupid smartest witch of our age.

She slowly, gently, put her hand in his, rubbing the inside of his palm with her thumb, a slow and reluctant smile beginning to appear on her face. Fuck, he was a goner.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything, Draco? Have you…changed your mind?"

"You little minx, you know I haven't, that all I've done the last three months is think about you."

Her retort was nipped in the bud, as his lips crushed hers (thankfully, her lips were not soft as rose petals. They were strong, and with a most sensuous life to them). This time, he didn't even hesitate to wrap his arms around her, possessive, trying to stop (but almost failing) his desire from drowning her. When she kissed him back, he thought his heart would explode. He started to run his hands through her hair, but gave up, the bushy mass defeating him. He couldn't stop his grin, however; stopping the kiss this time was not so bad, there was the promise of many more in the way her hand lingered in his. He opened his eyes when he felt her smile against his mouth.

"What?"

"Your father is going to be so furious about this."

"Why the fuck are you thinking about my father when you are making out with me? That is just messed up." And even then he couldn't stop the smile from lighting up his face. He gave in to what he had wanted to do months ago, and lifted her up in his arms, her bum nestled in the crook of his arms. She laughed - throaty, and not at all ladylike, and just how he liked it - and leant down so her hair brushed his face. She ran her fingers through his admittedly soft hair, thanking the lord that Paris had put some colour back in his pallid cheeks. His eyes, grey and stony - but not stony, because they were screaming with love - twinkled at her for an instant before closing as she leant in for another kiss as his muscled arms held her close.

Yeah, she could get used to this.


End file.
